


Pulse

by wede_fic (frahulettaes)



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-05-19
Updated: 2003-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:42:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24264550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frahulettaes/pseuds/wede_fic
Summary: Set in the book verse, after a long time on the road together, in an alternate version where Boromir comes to see Aragorn as both brother and king before the scene at Minas Tirath.PulseFra Hulettaes9/14/03
Relationships: Aragorn | Estel/Boromir (Son of Denethor II)
Kudos: 3





	Pulse

Time stretches, sinuous. Miles melt beneath your feet. Your breaths surge in a rough draw and crash, an ocean in your chest, cresting and falling. The familiar weight of sword and pack, swinging in time, heavy, reassuring. Day then firelight and day again. Uncountable. Only broken by voices, faces lit by fire, smiling, laughing. It is that, the comfort of companions, fellows, that rallies. Honor, yes. Bravery in the fight. But it is the company that crosses the pediment, into the soul. 

***

“Take some rest, Boromir, I will take the first watch.” It was more command than kindness, Aragorn’s voice was hard, tinged with weariness.  
‘That was poorly done’ he thought, seeing Boromir stiffen. 

Neither spoke as the party unrolled packs, unpacked gear. Pans and water appeared and fire, the practiced work of the Hobbits. Aragorn walked away from their clattering bustle into the trees, the better to listen for danger. He let his breath go, realizing he’d been holding it, willing the tense moment with Boromir away. 

The old comfort of solitude seeped into him as he wended his way through the trees.  
He grieved the loss of his ranger’s life, when time ran slowly, simply. He missed feeling the wheel of the stars overhead, the thrash of the trees and melting into the wild. He felt the burden of leadership, the weight of lives in the balance and the shadow of the ring.  
Settling back against stone, looking out towards camp, he brought out his pipe and weed and drew the silvery smoke deeply.  
He could hear faintly, Gimli’s quiet rumble and Legolas and the hobbits answering him in laughter. Around him the night fell.

***

Snapping twigs and rustling leaves caught his ear. He stilled, watching the wreath of smoke drift in the dark. 

“Boromir” voice quiet, acknowledging presence. 

“My, lord” Boromir waited some distance from the stone. 

Aragorn sighed, shifting his weight and made room for his Steward. Boromir closed the distance between them, dropping to the stone next to the dark lump that was Aragorn. 

Night sounds surrounded them, natural and reassuring. Aragorn drew again on his pipe and let the smoke out slowly. 

“It is not easy, my Lord,” Boromir said into the dark. “For me to follow. I have been a Captain too long.” 

Aragorn did not reply at once. After a time he said,

“I should not have spoken thus to you. I am sorry”

Boromir smiled a bitter, unseen smile.

“You can not have been any other way. You would be King.” His tone was indifferent. “I have never known a King, only my Father, the steward. And now I must learn to follow.” 

Despite the tension between them, they sat comfortably together. Months of hard travel, day after day, had forged an intimacy between the members of the fellowship. It was a brotherhood of proximity and shared destiny. Aragorn savored his time on watch, discouraging any company. Sometimes singing quietly to himself, dreamily, sadly. Boromir, still too much in doubt, joined in a time with the hobbits, elf and dwarf, but never truly let down his guard. 

Aragorn sat unmoving, still as the stone beneath them. Boromir heard his slow inhale; the only sign the man gave. The warrior blundered on, taking the ranger’s silence for permission.

“You carry a burden, my Lord, too heavy for one. You must rest, as the others and I must rest. Let your burden fall on my shoulders as well, for we are stronger together.” Boromir’s words were softly said, but drove hard into Aragorn’s heart. He felt Boromir’s weight shift towards him, a heavy hand came to rest on his shoulder. 

“You must let us help you, my brother.” Boromir whispered.

It was the sound of that whisper, low and raspy, that unlocked Aragorn’s tension. 

Boromir pulled him in a rough embrace. They sat thus, pressed together. Sharing the comfort of men, of companionship. And yet it was more. Boromir felt Aragorn’s shoulders, rigid beneath his arms, and felt the sudden heat between them.

“You must let go, for just a moment,” Concern deepened the Gondorian’s voice, lowering it. And there was something more.

The low buzz of his steward’s voice sent tendrils of fire down the ranger’s spine that pooled hotly between his legs.  
Boromir felt the weight of Aragorn, felt the silken ripple of muscle below skin. And in a moment his hand, sliding from Aragorn’s shoulder, came to rest on the man’s neck, thumb hooked under his jaw, turning the Kings face towards him. He knew the answer, had heard it before. Not in words, but in the taught rigidness of the rangers shoulders. In the eyes that could not lie. 

“Perhaps I cannot take your burden, my brother, but I can give my strength” 

As he spoke, he closed the distance between them, whispering the last word against Aragorn’s lips.  
Boromir could feel the ranger’s pulse quicken. He tasted the sweetness of the pipe weed on Aragorn’s lips, pressed deeper, trying, somehow, to draw away the weariness and replace it with something else, with himself. Tongues met, deep and slow. It was not, never had been, a tryst of love or sentiment, but one of passion and the need for release.


End file.
